


Destiel

by TheZ1337



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom Castiel, M/M, Married Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8522863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheZ1337/pseuds/TheZ1337
Summary: The usual Destiel.  First time they hook up to married life.  Starts at about season 6-7 (the best ones, obviously).





	1. Chapter 1

The door was opened with a worried hand, Castiel having only come for a moment to check on Dean. He stepped in to the room, and looking at the floor he saw the upturned blue chair. Books strewn over it, pages laid bare or upside down, bent to never be as flat as they had been when printed or for all the years they stood upright within their binding on a shelf. What had happened there, Castiel wondered to himself. His voice came from a corner by the lockers, deep but flat,

"Cas," he turned in time to just barely see Dean open one of the locker doors where he saw that hateful writing. The very inscription he had shown Dean and Sam when they had needed protection from angels. And now Dean was turning it on him, the angel who had protected him, the angel who had guided him, the angel who had pulled him from the pit of Hell. His own scream sounded far away, and he felt first pain, then agony. The excruciating seer of being ripped from that very spot and thrown anywhere else in the world, that pain was almost intolerable, even for an angel.

He was gone in a bright flash, and Dean looked up from covered eyes in to the empty hallway. Darkness and quiet greeted him, and that stink of mold and stale water were the only visitors to Dean as he stepped through the door and out of the holding cell. Quietly and with the stealth that John Winchester had taught him, he kept his eyes fixed on the point of entry for Sam and Bobby upstairs as he grabbed his jacket hanging on the wall. It was cold as it touched his skin, but he knew it would warm as it warmed him. He went up the back exit, pushing open one side of the wooden cellar door that led off to the side of the house.

* * *

"The end is nigh, the apocalypse is upon us. The Angels talk to me, and they ask me to talk to you. The apocalypse-" he was interrupted under the torrid red sign that told all down trodden and seedy residents (or visitors) in this area where they could get their fix for sex, drugs, or drink at any hour.

"Hey," Dean felt no hesitance interrupting this bible-thumping jerk as he crossed the street, "I'm Dean Winchester, do you know who I am?" He could only hope.

"Dear god," The man was in shock, for he knew exactly who Dean Winchester was. It was THE Dean Winchester, the one the Angels had whispered about through each scorching day and each frozen night that he spent on aching feet or on an uncomfortable mattress with but a sheet and the bible as his pillow.

"I'll take that as a yes," though that was the reaction Dean had been expecting, it still shocked him. "Listen I need you to pray to your angel buddies and let them know that I'm here."

The man, keeping his shocked eyes on Dean went to his knees to pray, hands clasping together over that most holy of books as he spoke in the same tone that he had been using to decry those he viewed as sinners as they walked by, "Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name," he couldn't even get past these opening words to his prayer before Dean heard him cut off by the one voice he didn't want to hear,

"You pray too loud." Both Dean and the holy man turned.

A simple touch was all it took. A touch to the shoulder and the man collapsed, passed out on the sidewalk under the sign that all passersby recognized. And with this, people would pass him and think he was but a bible thumping drunk; a holy man by day and a sodomite by night.

Castiel grabbed Sam by the scruff and dragged him to an alley with the intention of forcing him in to compliance.

"What are you, crazy?!" Dean sputtered out as Castiel pushed him back in to the old brick that lay claim to the buildings on either side of a trashed alleyway, reeking of piss and human garbage. Dean found himself thrown against the other wall as Castiel stalked towards him like a lion with its prey. Dean hit the wall hard, managing with mild success to keep the wind in his lungs,

"I rebelled for this?!" Castiel shouted, forcing Dean against the wall again with a swift, close knuckled punch to the face. If he was going to get his point across, there was only one way that Dean would get it through his thick skull. And since his skull was so thick, Castiel figured he could take quite the beating.

Dean felt the fist again, grunting a second time before feeling Castiel's hands again at the scruff of his coat. The pressure he physically put on Deans chest felt as though Castiel's fists might break right through his rib cage. Castiel's face was inches from Dean's as he spat out in anger,

"So that you could surrender to them?!" Water dripped somewhere in the alleyway from a broken rain pipe, and Castiel made sure to avoid it as he threw Dean once more against the other alleyway wall with every intention of roughing him up as Dean tried to lean over to get away, knowing he couldn't hit Castiel back for he'd already tried that once and nearly broke all the bones in his hand. But Castiel's fist hammered in to his stomach, preventing him from getting away and as Dean made to fall to his knees another gut punch and a hang to the shoulder stood him up, forcing Dean to face the Angel whom he had hurt and now whom he was damning to earth if he gave up. The gut punches were severe and as Dean coughed in pain, his lips became blood stained. Dean stood on trembling legs face to face with Castiel, rage written in his features.

"Please" Dean said, asking not only for Castiel to stop but for Castiel to let him do it, to give in to Gabriel and become his vessel for the apocalypse. But none of Dean's pleading would stop him now, and Castiel spun Dean around and threw him against the other side of the alleyway, unsteady legs losing their footing as he leaned over to get away from the raging Angel. He thought he may felt a rib becoming bruised, or even cracked though it didn't hurt as much as last time he had broken ribs. As he hit the wall, Castiel once again forced Dean to stand up as his gut forced him to dribble up blood on to Castiel's pale fingers. He groaned in to Castiels face, brow furrowed and clenching Castiels arms to try to get him to let go as the angel spoke,

"I gave, everything for you, and this is what you give to me?" The words rang in his ears, but perhaps that was from being thrown in to the alley wall, or perhaps from Castiels fist.

He was pulled from the wall, weakening on his feet. Castiel needed this, his anger boiling over and he once more hit Dean with his bare knuckles, taking it easy as far as Angel strength goes but to Dean it may turn out to be the worst beating of his life. Perhaps because it wasn't only a physical beating. Dean stumbled back and tried to remain standing but was given assistance by Castiels foot, his vessel wearing brown Oxfords that were perhaps second hand, though now they had been thoroughly scuffed and worn. Dean braced for the hard tar ground but was met with shock and pain as he fell in to a chain link fence that cut off access to Check Electric Co. And when Dean hit the fence, he didn't just fall in to it. He felt the ground leave his feet as Castiel kicked him with such force he flew into the fence, the wrapped metal standing up to Castiel's force much in the way Dean's body would not.

He hit the ground hard on his side, cheek cut and insides constricting. He twitched with pain as he smelt the familiar rain-tinged asphalt near his nose, forcing down intestines and spleen, kidney and stomach in order to expand his lungs, to catch his breath as Castiel approached his trembling form. Dean felt the ground under a half closed fist and he spit out a mouthful of blood, eyes laying upon Castiel's shoes and pant legs as he came up for what Dean thought would be a final resounding blow that would knock him unconscious, or better. He looked down at Dean's face with disgust, but the same look that was returned though Dean's face was painted with many more colors than Castiels.

He had trouble forming those first two words, swallowed once before demanding, "Do it. Just do it!" Dean coughed, his body only having enough power to say that and upon hearing that commanding tone, Castiel felt his rage depleting. He felt the blood on the back of his fingers, Dean Winchesters blood, and he saw the pitiful human, like all pitiful humans, cowering on the ground before him.

Castiel couldn't do it though, and he felt the burden weighing upon him again, the burden that had been lifted when he felt for once, just for once in this near-hell of the past year or so, he felt that he was owed something for all he had done. All he had sacrificed and given up, and nobody seemed to recognize. But he felt that he had again done wrong, and again it was him trying to save the world with two squabbling humans who could barely be called men. He turned, shoulder freezing over and Dean let his head droop, feeling blood pooling in his mouth again before letting it dribble out on to the black top.

Two seconds of slanted rain hitting dark umbrellas and windshields fell before Castiel said, "Okay."

Dean looked up, left eye squinting as a shiner formed around it and he raised one eyebrow.

"If you're so intent to start the apocalypse, then okay."

This was not the Castiel that Dean knew; giving up wasn't what he did because this was literally had to do with hell on earth. Castiel would crawl in to a hole and hide, somewhere perhaps in the Middle East, and let the world burn if Dean wasn't going to do what his moral compass told him to do. Even though it had occasionally led him down some side roads, nine times out of ten it brought him back to the right track.

Dean pushed himself up, through the pain and agony, leaning on the piss-stained brick wall as he groaned and winced through pain, feeling his muscles screaming. Maybe he really did have a broken rib, great, he thought in sarcasm to himself. With a trembling grunt for breath that matched each step, he made his way to Castiel. Of course he had to stand far away, Dean thought to himself.

"Cas," he stood just behind Castiel and put a hand on the back of his shoulder, just above his shoulder blade.

Castiel let out a loud breath through his nostrils, smelling the sweat and pain and of those words as he breathe din again, and the blood dripping off Deans lips. He felt the pressure of Dean's hand against shoulder, the warmth hidden underneath scraped palms embedded with asphalt and dirt. He turned and grabbed Dean to keep him from falling since Dean had been leaning on Castiel more heavily than he had meant to. Dean stumbled the two half steps in to Castiels arms, not able to raise his own so he slid his arms around Castiel's middle, warm body hidden by that middle-class khaki coat. Castiel hugged him back, feeling his trembling head turn as Dean rested his cheek on Castiel's shoulder; the cheek that didn't sting from an open cut. Castiel held Dean there, and in the sideways rain that distorted the city lights and wasn't heavy enough to be heard on window panes but was causing a slight nuisance, they stood for a long minute. Then Dean let out a sputtered groan, his knees collapsing and despite Castiel trying to hold him on his feet, a loud groan of pain that would have been a scream but was bitten back by gritted teeth forced Castiel to let Dean's knees hit hard pavement. And Castiel knelt too, Dean's head falling forward as he trembled with pain, teeth gritted so hard the muscles in his neck were visibly tensed to capacity.

"Dean," Castiel tried to grab his attention, "Dean" he demanded.

Dean lifted his face with one eye growing more steadily swollen shut, his state of awareness going black whether Castiel wanted it to or not. But his other eye, the one unbruised, betrayed his emotion. It betrayed his panic when Castiel didn't show up for weeks, it betrayed the joy he felt when it was just he and Castiel and the humor he got from Castiel's presence in the human world when it was just the two of them. And it showed something more. Castiel laid a hand on Deans cheek, bringing his face close and one of Dean's hands fell away from Castiel; he didn't have the strength to hold his arms up any longer.

Dean trembled as he sat on knees that were numb both from hitting the ground so hard and from the heat being stolen by the ground below him. He was slowly losing feeling in his legs and arms, hands and feet. But he had half a mind left, half a mind through the screaming pain, something telling him he was unsafe in the same way he had felt before in lonely bars on Valentine's Day. And he was right to fear, because Castiel wanted to know. He wanted to know the salt of Deans skin after a fight. And even in this state, Dean's eyelashes were still perfect as Castiel had always noted, curved naturally upwards and spread evenly apart, and slightly darker on bottom than most people's. Castiel's sharp blue eyes skimmed over the broken nose that would soon be fixed but would still have that sharp yet small bump right in the middle. He leaned closer.

"Cas." Dean's hand that had been on the side of Castiel's coat hit roughly against Castiel's chest; Castiel saw the look in Dean's eyes that he had already learned to interpret. Don't you dare, that's what Dean was saying with a glance. And suddenly Castiel let go; they would pick this up on a later date he tried to console himself, but he knew it was most likely never. So Castiel let an inch or two of distance drift between them and saw the look in Dean's eyes fade.

Castiel then moved a hand up and put his index and middle finger against Dean's temple and let it fall down to his jaw bone just under his ear as Dean felt the warm hand before he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

His eyes shot open. Alone, he knew he was supposed to be alone because Sam was off "running errands," though Dean knew he was most likely at the bar. He had been acting extra strange since he had gotten back from that Hell prison with the Devil, but then again he knew Sammy had just become more like himself. That was definitely another noise in the kitchen and Dean sat up quickly but quietly, biting his still healing split lip to make sure this was not a dream. Nope, definitely not a dream he thought in the same moment that he reached under his pillow to pull out the silver knife from its sheath, the one he had dipped in holy water. As quietly as possible he slid out from under the one sheet on the bed, the comforter strewn off to the side and he walked on near tip toes to be as quiet as he could on the laminate floor. He could see that the kitchen light was on through the crack he had left in the door to the room with two double beds, and he squinted in to the light to see what waited for him. He saw nothing. Whatever was in that room was to the left, near the cabinets but away from the refrigerator, most likely on the other side of the sink.

He put two fingers on the cold plastic of the door, opening the door slowly for about two inches before throwing it open, knife in hand at the ready.

Castiel looked up at him almost hopefully, and then his eyes turned to worry as he saw Dean standing there in boxers with knife at the ready. Dean was just as shocked at seeing Castiel in his kitchen, especially with a bottle of whiskey on the table and two differently sized water glasses beside it.

Neither seemed to know what to say. Hi? Hello? Long time no see? Glad to see you're healing well? How were they supposed to approach this after not seeing each other for nearly two weeks after Castiel had beaten Dean black and blue.

"What the hell Cas?!" he grunted, voice more scratchy than normal from just waking. He lowered the knife.

Castiel shrugged and tried to put on a smile like he'd seen humans do. "I want to apologize." He was hopeful Dean would accept his apology.

"Apologize?" He glanced at the glasses on the table and the bottle of whiskey, but was confused because Castiel didn't tend to apologize for things he actually had meant to do.

Castiel was at a loss of words for a moment, but before he could get out the words Dean interrupted him, "So you bring me booze?" Dean looked confused and almost disgusted, brow furrowed. Castiel noted that his nose was back in place.

"I thought you liked it." His words were innocent, his tone curious as to why the gift didn't seem sufficient. Was it the wrong bottle, Castiel wondered? It was most likely one of those social subtlety things Castiel never understood, one of those things humans didn't verbally say but everyone agreed upon.

Dean perceived the almost heartbroken face of Castiel, and put the knife down on the table. "I usually take my Whiskey from plastic bottles," He walked past Castiel to get two brandy tossers, "But a glass bottle will do." He poured out two fingers of the whiskey after taking the bottle from Castiel's hand, then added a bit more to his glass in silence.

Castiel picked up his glass and sniffed the dark liquid, and scrunched his nose at how it reeked. Fermented rye had never smelled good to him, and why humans would ingest it in such copious quantities was beyond him. But it was the same color as Deans hair, and it had been at eye level in the liquor store so he had thought it was the best bottle to take.

"Cheers." Dean took a sip from his cup and tasted the smooth warmth he usually only got from bars.

Castiel took a sip and after swallowing, he stuck out his tongue, groaning, "You drink this?"

"It'll put hair on your chest," and these word were accompanied by that sly, tongue-and-cheek smile of his before he took another small drink. "Besides, you're not supposed to drink the whole glass, you're supposed to sip."

He poured Castiel another small portion.

"Oh," was Castiel's only reaction, the word quiet and said in genuinely sincere confusion

Castiel looked at him puzzled, then looked down at his human form.

"Do I want to put hair on my chest?" he asked in an equally confused tone as he looked back up at Dean and Dean couldn't help but get that slightly bewildered smile back.

"Well I dunno, do Angels have hair on their chests?"

It was a rhetorical question, and Dean had once told him that any question he didn't want to answer could be treated as such.

"So you came back to apologize?" Dean pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down, changing the subject from booze and chest hair.

"Yes."

"Apology accepted," he took another little sip. He knew this bottle would be lucky to survive two or three nights in his possession.

"I am really sorry-"

"Its fine, Cas" Dean said with aggravation. He'd gotten over it after he was healed, his black eye now a yellowish green color from healing.

Castiel pulled out a chair after standing awkwardly for a few seconds as he always did, and he sat down before he took another sip of whiskey. He then looked at the silver knife that was in between them and though it wouldn't hurt him, he didn't like it being there. He reached over and began to slide it away on the table as he spoke, "Can you just-"

He stopped as Dean reached across the table and put his hand partially on Castiel's and partially on the knife, "What are you doing?"

"Pushing this away, I don't like it being near me."

"Why?" Dean took it from Castiel, "It won't kill you,"

"No but a knife would harm this vessel, and I may have to get new clothes if that happens." He didn't even know where one would get such clothes as the one he was adorned with.

"I'm not going to stab you, Castiel."

A silence fell between them and Dean refilled his cup.

"I remember, you know," he said quietly then after he'd spun the cap back on the bottle.

"Remember what?"

Dean looked at Castiel from his lounging position, but then slowly leaned forward. He let his hand hover for a moment as he paused, then laid his hand on the back of Castiel's that was resting on his leg.

"I remember," he said again as he rubbed his thumb over the back of Castiel's fingers.

Castiel forced himself to keep eye contact with Dean, "I don't know what you're talking about" he said flatly.

"Listen," He reached down and with one hand on the corner of his chair and took a large scoot forward, closer to Castiel so their knees were almost touching. "I may have been half out of my mind with pain," he rambled off quickly, and then his tone grew quieter as he spoke, "But I'm not oblivious. And I remember" he whispered the last part as he perceived Castiel leaning closer.

The air in the room was still, scented by a faint mold problem and the scent of rye whiskey. A siren could be heard screaming somewhere outside or maybe it was in Dean's brain as he leaned forward and Castiel scooted to nearly the edge of his chair.

They were as close now as they had been that night nearly a week ago, and Castiel's voice broke their silent acquiescence, "Don't-"

"Shh," came Deans somewhat forceful whisper, a finger reaching up to Castiel's lips to quiet him. He had been about to tell Dean not to feel obligated, after all Castiel had almost beat him to death but Dean wouldn't let him speak those words.

He looked in to Dean's eyes, Dean's own eyes half lidded as he took in the features of Castiel's chosen vessel. The freckles he had most likely had more of when he was a child; the scruff the man had not shaved in nearly two days before he had let Castiel in; the uneven hairline and how it grew more profusely on his temples than most people; the perfect hairline on his forehead that was not showing signs of receding even for a man in his early forties.

And Castiel found he could nearly drown in those eyes of Deans, he leaned in to close their gap and felt those soft eyelashes brush against his cheeks for but a moment. Dean's hand went from shushing Castiel's lips to running up his cheek and in to his hair above his ear; then running down to the hair just above the back of his neck. Castiel felt the hot breath of a human, the first time ever, and then Dean's lips were on his, soft and inviting. Dean kissed Castiel softly and with all the tenderness his hardened soul knew how, and Castiel kissed him back with every dream he'd even imagined having that involved Dean. It had been years for Dean since he had kissed another man, but it was like riding a bike. The gap between them was unacceptable in Dean's mind, so he reached over and grasped beneath Castiel's seat, between where his legs were and pulled the chair forward so his knees hit the seat of Deans chair. The kiss was lippy until Castiel felt Dean's hot tongue and he reached over, putting a hand on Dean's leg, as if knowing that was the right thing to do for humans in a moment like this.

Upon feeling Dean's bare leg, and having forgotten the man was only in his boxers, he pulled his hand away almost instantly out of sheer human decency and his own embarrassment (though Castiel was often made to feel embarrassed at the hands of Dean). Dean caught his hand however and broke the kiss, moving Castiel's hand back down on top of his leg. They looked over each other's eyes; Castiels were questioning while Dean's were reassuring, and Dean was the one who pulled Castiel in to a more passionate kiss. Dean could feel Castiels thumb stroking carefully at the inside of his thigh, and felt the familiar strength of a man's sensual hand upon him.

Dean couldn't take it after but a few moments, for he had always been very excitable. He leaned forward on one foot and put his other knee on Castiel's seat between his legs, scooting Castiel up against the back of his chair. He leaned forward and held the kiss, nearly standing as Castiel had to tilt his head up to kiss Dean. Dean put his hands on either side of the back of Castiel's chair, poised over him as Castiel slid his hand from the top of Dean's thigh to the back of it, his other hand sliding up Dean's bare right arm. Castiel's touch was hot to his skin, hotter than a normal human. This was something he had never had the opportunity to notice before; the hot touch under soft hands laid with lines of a human life left unfulfilled. Dean pulled away from the kiss and whispered, "Come on," and slid from his perched position, sliding fingers in to Castiel's as he led the way through the door whence he had come. Once in the bedroom though, Dean turned and forced his lips onto Castiels, and Castiel pulled Deans body close as he felt the passion in those lips.

He couldn't stand the clothes anymore. While struggling to slide his coat off, human bodies so unproductively put together. Dean was an expert at helping undress others, so he slid Castiels' coat off easily and then Castiel's hands were around Dean again feeling the scars on his skin from years of being tossed around by monsters and demons alike. Dean spun Castiel around and walked him backwards, Castiel's sheer ignorance being half the fun. When he stopped, his path blocked by the bed, Dean pushed Castiel gently, not wanting to frighten him off since such a motion could be perceived as hostile. Castiel fell to a sitting position, confusion rising only for a moment until he got a glance of Dean's bellybutton before Dean straddled him with one leg on either side. Dean grabbed the familiar blue tie with one hand and pulled Castiel in to kiss him, letting go a moment later only to work quickly on getting the tie off. He slid it from around Castiel's neck and broke the kiss. He whispered in to the soft light that flooded in from the kitchen table lamp, "Wait here." He got up and padded quietly out of the room, and to the front door. He undid the chain lock and the deadbolt, and opened the front door.

"Dean?" Castiel sat there with his hands on the cold sheet of the hotel bed, hearing the front door open. Dean hastily tied the tie around the doorknob, a universal symbol, and shut the door and replacing the locks. He turned off the kitchen light as he walked through and closed the door to the bedroom just in case. They were alone now, together, with darkness as their guide. It was something they had both been taught to fear, and yet here it was as their veil towards secretive pleasures. The faint light in their room came only from a street lamp down the road, orange barely penetrating the room as Dean slid on top of Castiel again. Castiel ran his fingers over Dean's ribs, feeling for anything broken or bruised as he met Dean's lips. Castiel felt all ribs to be in place and slid his hands over Dean's sides and to his lower back, pressing his body close. They kissed in the darkness, Castiel's hands roaming as he felt Deans hot tongue press against his own, hearts beating faster. Dean made quick work of the buttons on the front of Castiel's shirt, viewing each one as a challenge.

He pulled away from the kiss once more and could feel Castiel's hands slide around to his front as the angel looked up at him quizzically. Dean took one of Castiel's hands and seemed to be looking at Castiel's palms. He couldn't help but put that mischievous smile on his face, almost childlike as he used both hands to undo the buttons on the sleeves of Castiel's shirt.

"Why are you laughing?"

"I'm not," but Dean was definitely chuckling; he mused to himself that it wasn't as if Castiel could have undone the cuffs of his shirt all on his own and help Dean out a little.

"Yes you are."

Dean tilted his head as he went to work on the other cuff of Castiel's shirt, not answering him. He undid the two buttons there before replying, "No I'm not."

Castiel mimicked what Dean had done from earlier, and put a finger up to his lips, catching Dean only half by surprise. "Tell me." He failed in trying to do what Dean had done. Instead, Dean spread his lips and gently sucked on Castiel's finger once, leaving the angel in a statement of slight bewilderment. He took a moment to tilt his head to look at his finger that now felt slightly chill as it touched the cold air of the apartment, and in that moment Dean took advantage. Dean leaned in and kissed Castiel's neck once, then twice, and as he did so he heard Castiel quietly whisper,

"Oh."

Dean heard the unmistakable tone of pleasure in Castiel's voice as he continued, and slid Castiel's shirt off his torso. He tossed it somewhere else in the room, and felt Castiel's body begin to move against him, pressing himself closer.

His lips were soft, leaving a tingling trail along Castiel's neck before taking Castiel's mouth to his once again with a hand on his cheek. It was the skin on skin contact that aroused Castiel, feeling chest against chest and warmth against warmth, something he hadn't experienced ever before. And he wanted to taste Dean's salty skin.

Dean was rocking his hips against Castiel's and one of Castiel's hands rested on Dean's lower back, helping the motions as hot tongues exchanged secrets through every kiss. Castiel reached his other hand up and slid it over Dean's arm until it found that mark, that unmistakable mark he had left on this poor human body. He pulled from the kiss slowly as his hand slid over the scar, fingers fitting perfectly onto Dean's shoulder. Dean opened his eyes as Castiel broke the kiss and felt that hand on his shoulder where he had spent hours trying to avoid running his fingers over it. Castiel looked at where his hand was, at the skin on Dean's shoulder and then met Dean's eyes apologetically.

"I-"

"Don't" Dean insisted, shaking his head. "Don't," he whispered again, feeling the heat of Castiel's hand even through the scar tissue. Dean put his hands on either side of Castiel's head and kissed him roughly, pushing him back onto the bed, maneuvering one leg between Castiel's. Castiel kissed him back passionately, enjoying the pressure of another body on top of him.

"Kick off your shoes," Dean began to kiss Castiel's neck once more and he acquiesced as best he could. Once that was done, Dean sat up on his knees and began to unbuckle Castiel's belt. Castiel propped himself up on one arm, the other arm traveling over Dean's thigh, thumb poking underneath his boxers and stroking the skin there. Always good with his hands, Dean had Castiel's belt and zipper undone in a split second and he slid off the bed, pulling Castiel's pants off and tossing them vigorously anywhere else.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asked, having seen how quickly Dean seemed to toss his pants to the side.

"Oh yes," he cooed as he crawled back on to the bed, "I'm better than alright." He leaned down and kissed Castiel's stomach, slowly kissing his way up. His skin was soft, and Dean went from all fours down to his elbows as he left a trail of kisses and a couple soft nips, finally meeting Castiel's lips once more.

They let the darkened building around them be the only audience for their growing passion, hands feeling their way around a new form that was not their own. Castiel rolled Dean over so he was on his back, but Dean pushed Castiel over again and Castiel let out a small grunt. Dean pulled from the kiss, locking eyes with Castiel for a moment before he began to kiss down his chest, gently squeezing Castiel's nipples and letting him squirm a little bit. Castiel once again propped himself up on one arm, his other hand running through Deans recently cut hair. Dean reached his hand down to slide between Castiel's legs, finding he was already halfway there. Dean slid skilled fingers around Castiel and began that familiar motion, tightening his grip. On feeling Deans hand upon him, he let out a groan of pleasure and heard Dean whisper tenderly in to his pelvis, "Lie back."

He did, since he couldn't hold himself propped up with Dean touching him like that. Castiel's breaths began to fill his lungs as he grew harder. After giving him a small taste of what was to come, Dean pulled off Castiel's boxers and whispered, "Scoot back." Castiel complied so they could both be on the bed. Before Castiel knew what was happening or had re-situated himself on his back, he felt a hot tongue at the base of his penis, sliding all the way up and he felt Dean's lips slide over the tip. Castiel let out a trembled breath as he lay back, overcome with all the chemicals that his vessel's brain was releasing. Dopamine, Norepinephrine, eventually Serotonine; a bunch of names he would never know all firing rapidly and being received on the other end. Dean moved his hand up and down at the base, his tongue swirling around Castiel's tip. In nearly no time he began to taste the familiar salty release in his mouth, though Castiel wasn't quite there yet. He continued this motion for a few minutes, listening to Castiel's soft moans and his quickening breaths.

Dean slid his lips off Castiels tip for a moment, breathing his words against Castiel's skin, "Just give me some warning, hmm?"

Castiel took a second or two to actually process the words, though he didn't understand them, "W-warning?" He could hardly speak, first gripping at the cheap motel comforter.

"Mmhmm," Dean licked around the tip before putting his mouth over it again, hand working faster. It took only another 30 seconds or so before he heard Castiel choke out the one word he wanted to hear in a sigh,

"Dean." He came white and hot, Dean keeping up his pace as he swallowed the saltiness. It was something he hadn't done in years, and yet he invited it. He hadn't forgotten the texture in his mouth or the thickness in his esophagus afterwards. His pace began to slow as he felt Castiel's body tremble under his hand that was resting on Castiel's lower pelvis, and Dean slipped his lips slowly off. He smiled to himself and ran his fingers slowly up Castiel's stomach. Dean kissed his pelvis, his hips, up to his stomach and further, letting Castiel catch his breath. Castiel's chest rose and fell deeply and he slid his hand to meet Dean's, but as he went to put his hand over one of Dean's, Dean laced his fingers with Castiel's instead. And it felt good.


	3. Chapter 3

"Whose tie was that?" asked Sam in the diner across the street from the apartment, the waitress refilling Dean's second cup of coffee.

"Hmm?" He didn't look up from the local newspaper spread out in front of him, scanning for anything suspicious nearby.

"The tie on the door last night. I came back to the room and there was a tie on the door, I didn't know you had a blue tie."

"Oh yeah, I dunno, it must have been something I picked up on the road." He said it casually, turning the page of the newspaper.

"Huh," Sam didn't think much of it besides the fact that he knew Dean only owned two ties, and neither of them were light blue like Castiel's. "Well was it good?"

Dean looked up with a raised eyebrow, and then smiled his cocky smile. "Oh yeah. Worth all three beers that I bought 'er." He looked down at the newspaper and continued without pausing, "Hey listen to this. Some twins went missing a couple nights ago in Crooks County nearby, and two months ago, another pair of twins went missing. Vanished, without a trace."

"Sounds like it has potential. Wanna check it out?"

"Yeah, but after breakfast."


	4. Chapter 4

**Several weeks later**

It was a warm evening, the beginning of spring. A pale body lay half covered by sheets, brown tufts of hair strewn every which way. A man sat hunched on the side of the bed, breathing heavily with watery eyes he tried to blink away. The cold air of the room woke his fully human body to the early morning hours. The night is the hardest time to be alive, and 4am knew all his secrets, or so he had heard someone once say. The room was still except for the two figures, the chest rising and falling steadily on the unconscious body on the bed as he moved an arm in sleep over to where a warm body should be. At feeling the absence, Dean awoke to the morning. Or was it evening? He didn't know. He turned his head ever so slightly, eyes coming upon Castiel who was sitting with his legs over the edge of the bed, his posture betraying his defeated state of mind.

Dean sat up, "Cas?" he spoke in that deep voice he acquired while sleeping. But unlike other times Castiel had heard it such as when Dean awoke from a nap on the couch or in the car, Dean didn't both to clear his throat like he usually did. This was an intimate moment, not a moment to be spoiled by social graces. Dean slid over white cotton sheets towards Castiel who didn't raise his head.

"Cas," Dean let the word out in a whispered breath and slid palms flat over Castiel's sides, feeling the warm, soft skin there before he wrapped his arms gently around Castiel. Upon feeling Dean's touch, Castiel's head perked up ever so slightly in recognition of his lovers hands.

"Bad dream?" Dean spoke again, whispering the word in to Castiel's shoulder. He rested his lips there for a moment, half kissing Castiel, half taking in his scent. He then turned his head so his cheek rested against the back of Castiel's shoulder, face turned towards Castiel.

Castiel nodded his head and simply said, "Yes." He paused and continued, "Something like that."

Dean let a silence fall between them to see if Castiel would talk, then he whispered, "You don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to," and he meant it. He was beginning to, if only slightly, come to terms with the fact that there were some things that Castiel would never be able to tell him.

"I don't want to."

That was all Dean needed, but he kept his arms around Castiel, holding him in the darkened hotel room. Castiel felt Dean's heart beating under his chest, the steady pumping of blood creating a rhythm against him and slowly this pulled him from that horrible place, that state of mind. Castiel then gently slid his hand over Dean's arm, feeling the hair there that was becoming so familiar and let his fingers slide in between Dean's that were around his stomach. And Castiel let out a sigh,

"What am I going to do?"

The weight of that sentence must have been crushing, Dean thought. Castiel's grace had been stolen, the apocalypse diverted, and the gates shut to heaven. Castiel would never get back to that heavenly state or place; he was stuck being human until his human body died. He was stuck down here on earth with the cold, and the hunger, and the human necessities. It was maddening; even if he only ever slept five hours a night. He hated it, he didn't want to get used to it. He wanted to go back, go back to believing his father was still up there, watching over everybody with a plan. He wanted to go back to watching the humans, setting up couples instead of falling in love with their offspring. He wanted to just watch over, nothing more. But his grace was gone, and he felt lost and confused.

He squeezed Castiel just slightly, to let him know he was there, and that he cared.

 Dean tried to say it twice. He held his breath, let it out through his nostrils once and couldn't do it. So he tried again, and spoke as he exhaled, trying not to let his words be as shaky as he felt inside, "You could stay with me." He then cleared his throat, the amount of anxiety he felt over such a statement reminding him of the real world, the world outside this hotel room and that they would enter back in to in the morning with burnt coffee and diesel exhaust.

Castiel turned his head slightly in Dean's direction, "Yes," he said more casually than perhaps he meant to.

"I mean it. You can stay, with me. Us, you know, like this." Dean tilted his head and kissed Castiel's shoulder softly, eyes half closing. He didn't want to lose his angel.

Castiel began stroking his thumb gently over Dean's index finger, and after a few seconds of a pause, he concurred. "I would like that." He managed a half smile in the overarching darkness of the room that crept in from the corners,

"Me too" replied Dean. And somewhere inside of him, as Castiel turned to kiss him and envelope his lips with his own, a very small crack began to form in one of many walls. And though small, it was the beginning, as Castiel pushed his warm tongue against Deans.


	5. Chapter 5

The diner was casually busy at two in the afternoon. Waitresses wore stereotypical yellow dresses with plain white aprons, hair in pony tails and serving soft drinks in clear plastic glasses with too much ice.

Dean sat with Castiel in a booth warmed by the flood of sunlight, the former having nearly finished his double bacon cheese burger with grilled onions while Castiel sat with an untouched glass of water next to him. He didn't like eating much, and still was not used to the habit of his body needing sustenance roughly 2-3 times per day. The day had been hot even though summer had begun to wane, cheap plastic blinds raised in the diner to let in scorching sunlight. An overweight trucker wearing suspenders sat at the bar eating his meal while a single mother and two rowdy children sat near the entrance, the youngest girl trying to sprinkle pepper in her older sisters' clear soda.

"I just don't understand why you are so opposed to attending."

Dean let out a heavy sigh, greasy fingers crumpling an already crumpled napkin. "Those aren't my type of things."

"That's not a valid reason, Dean."

"Dammnit Cas!" Dean slammed his hand down on the cheap metal table, perhaps harder than he meant to, his temper getting the best of him again. This argument had been going on for nearly fifteen minutes now, back and forth over the same points. He calmed himself down, the abrupt noise he'd just made bringing him back to reality. It was the reality that across from him sat the only creature, human or otherwise, who had ever understood him. Who had ever known the pain and experiences he had been through, and who under no circumstances would leave him or forget him, or not come to his rescue.

They were discussing the pride festival downtown, where Castiel had inadvertently wandered in.  Still confused about human nature and human activity, he had followed a throng of people inside some rainbow colored gates. Everybody had seemed happy in the crowd, and he had passed through without a ticket. The jubilant crowd then dispersed inside a large park that was surrounded with a temporary wire fence, the kind he had once kicked Dean into. He winced at the thought and wandered towards the noisiest part of the park. But just as he came upon the central stage, the performance ended. Ever the patient one, Castiel took a seat in the front row as people began to get up and wander off, either to vendors, performances on other stages, or the beer garden. He sat down quietly on a plastic folding chair that had once been white but was now visibly scuffed from dry dirt and mud.

He had sat quietly for nearly twenty minutes, hands in his lap, people watching and waiting for another performance to begin. Everybody was happy it seemed, laughing and eating shaved ice or talking loudly and walking with children. He saw things perhaps too promiscuous for him to approve of, and yet the pure, positive energy comforted him in the crowd of strangers. Men were holding hands with men, women with women, and some he could not identify which gender they were but he didn't question because all the people he saw had smiles on their faces. And that's what truly mattered in humans, as far as he was concerned.

"Are you here alone?" came a slightly effeminate voice. A young boy, perhaps 22 or 23 sat down next to him, wearing jean shorts and a white and blue striped tank top. He wore expensive sunglasses and had a rainbow-colored bracelet on his wrist.

He looked at the boy and thought for a moment, "Yes, I suppose I am." He said it in his usual slightly confused yet complacent tone.

"You couldn't get anybody to come with you?"

"Hmm, no…" he let the word linger in the air. Who was he supposed to take? Dean and Sam had been busy, and he didn't know any other humans that would want to wander around the city with him.

"Well if you want, you can join my boyfriend and I and our friends; we're over at the beer garden." He spoke quickly, trying to make I less awkward for this guy who was obviously awkward by nature. "I saw you here and thought how sad it was that one of us is alone on a day like this."

"One of us?"

"Yeah," he simply smiled and stood up with a spring in his step, leading the way to the beer garden where one of the other men in the group bought him a beer. He'd had beer a few times now; it came with the territory when you were around the Winchesters. The boys were very nice and very happy, and talked slightly loudly and excitedly. They talked about the performers that were going to be on stage next, and how one of the members of the group just had to see Chuck Spring perform. He couldn't miss that performance, and convinced the rest to find a seat in the sea of white scuffed chairs, Castiel sitting between the two couples as they gleefully chatted away.

Throughout the day he gathered what this festival was all about; it was about people like him and Dean. Two men who were intimate together; yet he didn't understand why people didn't approve of it. People disapproved of it so much that there had to be festivals to push back against those who were against it; there must have been a lot of hate in those people's hearts, thought Castiel silently. He had learned from Dean that if he was not sure about what to say or if it was appropriate, it was best not to say anything at all.

His new friends questioned him about whether he had a boyfriend, and the word made him smile ever so slightly. "Yes, I suppose I do" came his answer and they began to question him all about Dean. By the end of the conversation they were convinced that Dean was perhaps the worst boyfriend ever and was probably abusing Castiel both mentally and physically. After all, Castiel described Dean as slightly cold and shut off from his feelings. He mentioned how they never talked about their intimacy or showed affection towards each other in public. How Dean could drink a 6-pack in a few hours and still be thirsty. He mentioned their physical fight, and how Dean seemed to snap at him every so often but he assumed it was because he didn't understand how he fit in to this whole world. He didn't understand how he fit in to Dean's world, his friends assumed, and that Dean wasn't making time or space for Castiel but they had no idea of Castiel's thousands of years of history or his and Dean's real relationship. He told them Dean was a hunter, and they didn't like that.

"So he's a hunter hunter, like hunts animals? Or like he's 'on the prowl'?"

"Umm, just a hunter, I think."

Skeptical looks were exchanged.

"And how long have you known him?"

"A few years, but we only recently started sleeping together."

Awkward silence.

"He's the first one I ever-"

"Wait, what?"

"Your first?"

"First, ever?"

Castiel didn't like the way they were looking at him. So he nodded, "Yes, is that… bad?" He didn't see the problem they were coming up with in their minds as the performance started

After watching Chuck Spring perform and around 1:30 or so, Castiel bid his friends goodbye and left them with a phone number. He left the parade, getting a stamp on his hand on his way out should he want to return at some point during the day. He had walked up to the diner thinking over the day; the songs that were performed were really good, and the guy on stage had such a range of a voice (Castiel had no idea the songs were recordings, and were performed by a Drag King). He entered the cool, quiet diner to meet Dean, and was filled with warmth upon seeing him sitting at a booth already, sipping at a coke when he raised his eyes to meet Castiels.

But now here they were at the end of Dean's meal, arguing over the festival. Dean, of course, thought this whole pride thing and festival was nonsense and would never be caught dead, alive or otherwise at one of those things, no way.

"I just," Dean slid his nearly empty plate to the side, a few haphazard fries left on the fake porcelain. "I don't..." he sighed, words not coming out of his mouth. He struggled, especially with the words of his professions, of his love and his need for Castiel and needing his shoulder to lean on, and how much he wanted to let Castiels gentle hands comfort his soul that was left so long aching alone in the darkness of human existence.

Dean reached his hands across the table slowly and placed them over Castiel's, feeling the familiar shape of his bony fingers growing thinner by the day. "They need that to prove," he paused, "to prove to their," he paused again, "partner how they feel, or to themselves about how they feel but I don't..." he looked down at the table, then back up again in to Castiels eyes, taking care to form the words in his head before he spoke them, "I don't need a festival, to tell me how I feel about you." He squeezed Castiel's hands gently, comfortingly.

"Need a refill?" Came the waitress's voice and approving eyes, hand hovering near Dean's nearly empty coke glass.


	6. Chapter 6

**Four months later**

Dean couldn't stand it any longer. That song had been replayed at least two dozen times today alone, and he had been tired of it after the third go around. That record had to go, and if he never heard that song again, it would be too soon. He got up from the oak table and walked determinedly across the marble floor of what had now become his home. The bunker of the Men of Letters had become a haven for Dean, Sam and Castiel while they waited for the inevitable end. Dean was the most firm of them all, being on edge every time Sam or Castiel left. He waited up all night until they returned, knowing the dangers that awaited them when they left the bunker.

But he couldn't take the music any longer and as he turned the corner, he saw Castiel standing as if in a trance, with a small smile on his face as he stood next to the record player, vinyl spinning against a polished needle. Dean walked right over to the record player and pulled the vinyl off, Castiel's eyes having seen him pass but not paying attention until he heard silence. He snapped out of his daze-like bliss, "I'm listening to that."

"No you're not," Dean snapped the record in half over his knee. He never had to hear it again.

Castiel watched as his favorite record snapped courtesy of Dean Winchester, and he felt hurt. "That's rude" he said with a befuddled tone.

"You played this song twenty times in a row," he held the two broken halves in his hand, facing Castiel now.

"You could have asked me to stop,"

"And you would have played it again tomorrow."

Castiel paused, sensing something deeper at the root of this. "You're irritable Dean, maybe if you

"No, I'm not going out there." He set the broken halves of the record down on a polished wooden side table.

"Sam and I have gone out there, and we have both come back fine."

"I'm not chancing it Cas, you know how I feel about it."

"Some fresh air-"

"No," Dean said firmly, eyes locking with Castiels. "I'm not going out there; for all we know it could be hell on earth by now."

"It was fine last time I went on a supply run Dean,"

"That was two weeks ago." Dean seemed persistently irritable. After all, he had been cooped up here for nearly four months. He'd not left these sacred walls and Sam had confided in Castiel that he thought Dean was going a bit stir crazy, even if there were plenty of rooms to go to for a change of scenery.

Castiel let a silence fall between them, staring Dean down in the music room, or at least that was what they called it. Castiel's lips parted and even though he'd mulled over the words, tasted them on his tongue when nobody was around and almost rehearsed what he had seen on TV, he was still unprepared.

"Dean, I love you, but your solution to every problem is to live inside a mountain."

Dean was about to retort that it was the only way to keep them safe, the only way to ensure their survival, when the first four words of Castiels sentence rang in his ears. He could hear the blood rushing in his eardrum; feel the tightness in his shoulders relax. He realized he had been ready for a fight, and then those words washed over him like coming up from a dive into a river of fresh, cool water. The words were smooth and natural, and wholeheartedly sincere.

Dean finally let himself blink after what seemed like any eternity though it was only a fraction in time. And then it didn't matter, none of it: the angels falling, closing the gates of heaven and hell, the fact that he had once been Gabriel's vessel, or that he hadn't seen the King of Hell in nearly a year and had heard nothing of him. None of this mattered then, because Castiel had said those words, and Castiel saw Dean's stance softening as he gave up his argument. He had heard the words before, but ne'er did they sound so sweet.

"I love you too."


	7. Chapter 7

**Several years later**

The suburbs, no matter how insulated they seemed, harbored their own intimidating factors. For those that were not used to the life, or were outside of the normal demographic that was found in the square homes with large lawns, living in one of the cookie cutter homes was somewhat uncomfortable. The lawns in this particular suburb were still nourished from the spring rain, although summer was just beginning and the edges of laws had just begun to yellow if they were left unattended. The homes here were small and middle class, and there were plenty of cul-de-sacs to turn around a lost driver. On one particular cul-de-sac stood a two bedroom home that was slightly smaller than the rest and was two stories. It was towards the edge of the suburban complex, and the lawn laid perfectly green and well taken care of just like the flowerbeds. The backyard faced another backyard that had many overgrown plants so it was more private than it may otherwise have been.

The bedrooms were both upstairs, while downstairs was a small office, a half bath and a kitchen that had a small space for a dining room table, with a living room greeting the white front door.

The outside looked freshly painted, and orange roof tiles were freshly laid. To any passerby, it looked like the perfect home for a new couple or first-time parents. And the sun set slowly upon the backyard, shining light on the pool that was kept clean of all leaves and had a filter that was changed regularly. The kitchen window was open to let in fresh air, and the smell of dinner wafted out. In the front yard was a mailbox like any other that was attached to a wooden post pounded in to the ground. On the side of the mailbox read one word that yielded the identity of the owners to the mailman and all who passed by, "Winchester."

For dinner, Dean had grilled up a sirloin steak and a side of mashed potatoes. Dean cut the steak in two so he and Castiel could share, adding a dollop of steak sauce to his plate and a generous amount of mashed potatoes with butter. After dinner they watched two terrible B-movies on television while they snuggled close on the couch. Near 11pm Castiel led a sleepy-eyed Dean, who had fallen in and out of sleep towards the end of the second film, up to bed.

Castiel held Dean as he drifted to sleep, always waiting for a while after he was snoozing to allow his own lids to close. He liked to watch Dean sleep, watching the lids rest motionlessly and feeling his chest rising and falling under a soft hand. Castiel only slept for 5 hours a night or so, and when he awoke he sat outside a lot, looking up at the clouds and the stars. He would sit quietly, perhaps with a warm cup of tea or hot cocoa if he was in the mood for something sweet. He enjoyed the calm, quiet night air by the pool. And he would just lookup, endlessly, until the sky began to go from a dark, near blackness to a slowly lightening blue.

When he felt it was morning enough, he would go upstairs and slip back in to bed with Dean so he would be there when those green eyes opened. Lately he enjoyed watching Dean get dressed or undressed mostly because Dean had begun exercising more; as Dean put it, he wanted to "get cut" whatever that meant. Castiel wasn't sure how slicing yourself would help, but he hadn't seen do this yet. And he supposed if Dean was happy with his workout routine, Castiel was happy too.

Upon sliding under the covers, he found Dean laying on his stomach with one hand under his pillow, the other outstretched onto Castiel's side of the bed and it made Castiel smile ever so slightly, thinking that Dean was dreaming of him in his sleep.

Castiel lifted Dean's arm and laid it over his own waist, facing Dean as he laid down. But the movement had awoken Dean just enough that he felt the warm body next to him; he didn't even need to open his eyes anymore to know who it was. He didn't have to live in fear of who was crawling in to bed next to him at such an unholy hour. Instead, he simply rolled onto his side so he was facing Castiel, keeping his arm draped over Castiel's waist and he drifted back to sleep in an instant with his soft breath warm on Castiels face.

Dean awoke around seven or eight in the morning, a sleepy Sunday sunrise peeking through the sheer drapes of their bedroom, their sanctuary. Dean had gotten used to nearly eight hours of sleep every night since he and Castiel had moved in to this home nearly three years prior. Castiel could tell he was awake because his breathing changed ever so slightly, but he lay still so Dean could get as much rest as possible. He had earned it after a lifetime of motel beds and 24-hour stakeouts. Dean was lying on his back and the world slowly began to come back to him; he felt his arm numb from sliding underneath Castiel at some point but he didn't' mind; his other hand was on his stomach as he lay on his back. The sheets felt good against his skin, but not as good as Castiel. After a few minutes he finally tapped his middle and index finger on his stomach before stretching out, feeling coming back almost instantly to his arm as he heard Castiel's gruff voice, "'Morning."

Dean groaned in response and rolled over on to his side, finally opening his eyes. Castiels face was the first thing he saw every single morning, and the only thing he wanted to see. "Morning," he whispered, clearing his throat from the night's sleep.

It was the weekend and as such, Dean and Castiel could stay in bed all day if they chose. Before they got out of bed to start the day however, Dean found himself on all fours with a steady hand gripping his hair, forcing his head back as Castiels other hand worked in that ever-familiar up and down motion as he pushed himself in and out.

Dean trembled as he came onto their sheets to both of their reliefs, Castiel punctual as always with his timing. Their bodies that had worked in unison now slowed until Dean began to tense with every thrust and Castiel took this as his queue to pull out. Dean slowly sat back on his knees, and felt Castiel hug him from behind, kissing the soft skin on his neck and it gave him goose bumps. Dean felt the familiar arm around him and felt it rise and fall with his chest; the sex had never been this good before Castiel came in to his life.

"Want to lay down?" came Castiels voice again,

Dean only nodded and muttered a "Yea," lying down on the other side of the bed. Castiel curled up with him, Dean still slightly twitchy from his release, and yet wanting more. He always wanted more, and Castiel would always give it to him, eventually.

They were a tangle of arms and legs as they welcomed Sunday morning, doing what all mushy couples do and gazing in to each other's eyes until one of them decided to get up. This morning it was Dean, and he made his way to the bathroom to shower, ruffling fingers through his hair as he walked lazily in the direction of the bathroom door.

Their bathroom was clean and white; the counters clear of everything but the little stand with two toothbrushes poking out of it. Dean brushed his teeth first, then turned on the water for the shower. He had just replaced their water heater two weeks prior so the temperature of the water heated up in no time. He slid off his blue boxer briefs and stepped under the warm water, sighing as he let it soak over his neck and shoulders. Nesting was good to him. He turned around and rinsed his face, letting the water run over his hair for a second before he heard the shower curtain slide open. He turned and wiped off his face, Castiel sliding in to the shower with him,

"Mind if I join?"

"Not at all." Any time Castiel was naked, Dean was happy. He turned around to rub his eyes in the water, and felt Castiels arms slide around his waist, liking his constantly touchy nature. Dean took his head out from under the faucet, wiping away water from his eyes once more, "Can I help you Cas?" he said as he leaned his head back a bit on Castiel's shoulder, letting water drip down on him,

"Mmm, nope" was all he said. They showered, but with only one faucet they began to fight over who got to wash the shampoo out of their hair and who got to rinse off the soap. It was one of their favorite games.

"Hey, you can't-"

"No, I have shampoo-"

And so it went until finally Castiel got the shampoo out of his hair and eyes. He pushed Dean slightly more roughly than he meant against the back of the shower, though that's how Dean liked it. With a small "oopf," Dean spoke up,

"Cas, but I'm all-" he let out a small moan as he felt Castiel shut him up with one hand wrapped firmly around him and coaxing him from his half-mast position.

Dean let out a small groan of pleasure, looking Castiel in the eyes, "Don't start what you can't finish."

"Who says I won't finish?" was Castiels reply, getting a mischievous look on his eyes before he slipped down to his knees.

Castiel was downstairs first, giving Dean some time to finish showering. He decided to make Dean breakfast that morning; he didn't usually do this, but liked to surprise Dean when he came downstairs.

"You know I love it when you cook me breakfast," came Dean's voice as he walked around the corner from the staircase.

"I know," said Castiel who looked up when he heard Dean's voice. Dean wore his typical plaid shirt and jeans, Castiel clad in a plain grey tee and dirtied jeans.

"Working in the garden today?"

"Those plants aren't going to weed themselves, and those tomatoes need some attention."

Dean only gave Castiel a playfully smug look as he raised an eyebrow and sat down on one of the barstools at the raised kitchen counter as Castiel poured him some coffee.

During the day Castiel toiled in the large garden they had, and Dean painted the walls of their half bath on the first floor; the previous day Dean had laid out new tile and let it dry overnight. He primed, then painted, then put down another coat after waiting for the first coat to dry. With a few spots of paint on his hands and forearms, he washed it off as best he could and made himself a roast beef and pickle sandwich with plenty of mustard. He poured himself a glass of lemonade and walked out to the backyard to check on Castiel. He put the glass of lemonade down on the patio table and made his way over to his garden angel, or that's what he liked to call him in his head.

"So how's the plants?"

"Hmm, well the beans are not too happy because the squash seems to be taking up more space than I allowed for," he said without looking up.

"Huh, all that from a plant," Dean took a bite of his sandwich.

"Mmhmm, they are very vocal today."

Dean shrugged; as long as it meant fresh tomatoes in his salad or barbequed summer squash alongside his ribs, he didn't mind Castiel talking to the plants. After a few minutes, Castiel looked up and sat back with a sigh, squinting because of the bright sun overhead.

"You're just gonna stand there and tease me aren't you?"

Dean looked over at Castiel, having been eyeing the pool, "What? No," he turned, "I 'aint teasin' nobody" he said matter-of-factly, aware that Castiel was watching him walk back to the shade of the patio cover attached to the back of their house.

After eating lunch Dean went upstairs to change; that pool was just asking for a good swim. He came downstairs and dove in, feeling cool water wash over him. Castiel always said water was cleansing, even if it had tons of chlorine in it. Dean swam a few lamps before he splashed some water on to the cement besides the pool, resting his arms on the edge, "You want to join me?" he called out to Castiel who was thoroughly frustrated with the garden squash.

Castiel looked up like a surprised kitten, eyebrows raised. He saw Dean in the pool, somewhere having forgotten that he heard he splash of Dean entering the water. Castiel shrugged, "Yeah, I guess so." He rose and went upstairs to change while Dean grabbed the floating lounge chair they had and began to blow more air in to it while waiting.

Castiel was not as eager as Dean to hop in to the water, and he only knew how to doggy paddle. So he walked in to the pool using the stairs, eyeing the water suspiciously. Dean watched him, as he had done a hundred times before as Castiel slowly slid in to the water and began to paddle. He was always untrusting of the water when he first got in, and Dean pulled himself on to the inflatable lounge chair, sighing. Life was good. Castiel eventually joined him and they snuggled up together on the chair, letting themselves float on the surface of the water.

"So," Castiel started after getting comfortable on the floating chair, "do the guys at work know?"

"Hmm? Know what?" his eyes were closed as he relaxed with Castiels head resting on his shoulder.

"About us."

"Yep,"

Castiel perked up, "They do?"

"Mmhmm, they took it really well." The men at work had been completely accepting, if not a little bit shocked to find out that Dean was shacked up with a guy rather than a wifey. But they were a tolerant sort especially after they had known Dean and trusted his skills and judgement on the job. One of them, Arthur, had a gay brother who came round every weekend for barbecues and picnics with the kids. Dean hadn't run in to trouble though he didn't mention Castiel often. Not because he didn't want to, but because it wasn't his style to gush about his partner, and it worked out well enough with his coworkers.

Castiel smiled, "That's good. Because I see on the news what people think about it. And I don't know why they think like that."

Dean let out a small sigh, "Some people just, they don't understand, I guess," He lowered his voice, "about real love. They think there's boundaries."

"But there's not." Castiel stated plainly.

Dean simply nodded in agreement and the day went by around them.


	8. Chapter 8

**(2 weeks prior)**

Dean called Castiel when he left work, flipping up his cell phone and clicking the four letters that meant the world to him, "Home."

Two rings and Castiel picked up, "Hello?"

"Hey Cas, it's Dean." Pause, "I'm going out to a happy hour with the guys from work, so I won't be home 'till late."

"Okay, when's 'late'?"

"I dunno, 8ish?"

"Alright."

"Alright, see you then."

"Love you, b-"

His words got cut off by Dean hanging up. Dean didn't like hearing it, because it meant he had to say it back. And he didn't like saying these things in public, that whole showing-your-feelings thing. So he hung up and hopped in his truck, following one of the guys from the construction site to Murphy's pub down the road from where they were building a new housing development.

Dean bought the first round, Tom picking up the second and just as the waitress came around to give them their fresh beers, Anthony brought up the topic of spouses. Anthony was the site supervisor, and while he was middle management he was a fellow with a good attitude and a love for the Red Socks baseball team.

"So Dean, how 'bout you? Got an old lady?"

Dean laughed and looked down at his beer, hand curling around the cold, perspiration-covered glass. "Nope, I uh-"

"No wait let me guess, you're a live fast and die pretty type of guy huh?" chimed in Tom. Dean smiled a bit more.

"Nah, I used to be but uh,"

"You got hitched," Clemens chimed in. Clemens had a large stomach that he roped off with a belt so it flowed over his pants and had been married and divorced twice. His nose seemed permanently red from his preferred drink of scotch.

Dean took a quick sip of his beer before looked up at the 3 guys sitting at his table, "His names Castiel."

Without missing a beat, Anthony spoke up, "Let me ask you this"

Dean was waiting for it. For one of the many questions, "But how can you be with a guy?" or "Don't you think its an abomination?" or "Have you ever even been with a woman?" or some other question similar to those. Instead he got,

"Is he any good at pub quizzes?"

"Pub what?"

"Pub quizzes. 'Cause Pam and I got one coming up on Monday, and the couple we normally go with is out of town and we need two people to fill in."

"Oh, well," he thought about it for only a second, "yeah I guess he could be good at a pub quiz," Dean wasn't sure what the hell that was, but Castiel sure knew a whole hell of a lot about everything.

"Great! You in then?"

"Yeah, I don't think we've got anything going on Thursday night."

The topic then changed to Tom's wife who he always claimed was only pretty when her mouth was shut, which wasn't very often. Just after 8pm Dean said he had to leave, he'd told Castiel he would be home and his coworkers agreed that they should head home too.


	9. Chapter 9

The seemingly happy couple had a secret. It was near and dear to them both, and the reason they both belonged together. None of the neighbors knew it, but they did. It was inside the walls. When they moved in, Dean and Castiel nearly ripped down every single wall to get inside them. And once the walls were ripped down, they began with the paint. They painted every symbol imaginable, every symbol they had ever seen was painted on the walls to guard against everything and everything. Nothing would penetrate their home they decided, angel, demon, or otherwise. After that, Dean put up most of the rest of the walls since Castiel did not have experience with this, but after a few quick lessons, Castiel helped with the painting of their home. And after only two weeks or so of construction, their home was fortified. Nothing would penetrate those walls, and that was just how Dean and Castiel wanted it.

In their wonderfully fortified home they had all the amenities they could need. There was only one car in the garage, the beautiful '67 Impala that Castiel had learned to drive, though Dean did most the driving when they went out.

Their house looked like any other, with photos in frames on the walls. They picture by the Grand Canyon, in New York City, even one of New Years Eve that Sam snapped of them exactly at midnight. They also had pictures of Sammy and his wife who lived only thirty minutes away. They had a personalized dvd collection stacked neatly on the second to bottom row of the bookshelf, and a small collection of porcelain angel statues. They also had a miniature of Dean's Impala that Castiel had given to him last Christmas, and a few books on gardening that Castiel flipped through every once in a while. They had a cleaning service come through once a month though they were, in general, a fairly tidy couple. Castiel was a tutor for religious studies, of course, but that was only twice a week while Dean worked in construction Monday through Friday.

Their house had lots of windows to allow in sunshine and wood floors except for the bedrooms. Dean planned on putting a fogged-glass shower door because he hated the curtain, and Castiel agreed. Their house was a home to them, it was the place they felt most safe and secure. And despite all the precautions, all the love they shared and all the normality they tried to portray, underneath the floorboards of the coat closet was a treasure trove of hunting materials that Dean and Castiel dared not part with; not yet anyways.

Another lazy weekend rolled by and Dean was on the couch with Castiel. It was a grey couch with blue and white striped pillows and a beige throw that was draped over the back.

"Come on Cas, honestly, you just have to smile."

"I am smiling Dean, I've told you that."

Dean was trying to get a picture of the two of them since they hadn't had a good picture together for quite a few months now. And Dean liked having new photos of them, compiling them all in to what would end up most likely being half a dozen or more scrap books. Dean was in charge of taking the photos, developing and choosing them, while Castiel did the decorating of each page. But Castiel always had a hokey smile, or his eyes were closed, or something. Anything. There was always a problem.

"Jeezus Cas, it's not that hard."

"Say you, you've had years of practice." Dean held the camera out in front of them, tilting his head towards Castiel's and snapping another awful picture.

"C'mon man, you gotta do better than that." He turned to face Castiel who turned to look at him also.

"Dean, I'm trying my b-" he was interrupted by Dean's soft lips on his own. He kissed back with tenderness, turning his body ever so slightly towards Dean. It was warm and familiar, and he smiled as Dean broke the kiss, eyes lingering on his lovers face. Dean didn't miss a beat and turned his head only slightly to look at the camera and snapped a quick picture; this one was much better than the rest.


	10. Chapter 10

The pub quiz was promising to bring a full house of patrons with different insights and knowledge in to all of life's categories. It was from seven to nine in the evening, so Dean and Castiel showed up at quarter till seven. Thanks to Castiel, Dean was always early now because his little angel was wary about being late to anything. They easily located Anthony and Pam and took up the remaining two bar stools at their table. Anthony and Pam, as it turned out, had shown up at six to get a good seat and food. Dean and Castiel ordered food and a pitcher of beer, and Anthony went over the logistics of the game.

It was $40 per team to enter, there were six teams, three rounds, and whoever won got a $25 gift card per person to a local business. Whoever won each week got to pick the last topic for the following week, and that particular topic this week was Middle Eastern history. Dean smiled and nudged Castiel upon hearing this; he knew Castiel would know history pertaining to the place where God's son was born; history was his best subject. Well, second best after biblical studies.

They ate and drank, and answered questions when they could. Dean was more helpful than he would ever admit with his intimate knowledge of all things Star Trek, old school rock and roll, and cars or engineering. Castiel was less helpful, until the last round of course. He pulled them from second to first place and their team (amusingly titled The Union) won the pub quiz. Dean and Castiel won $50 between them to a local grocery store and they finished up the night by buying a round for their table though Castiel refrained from partaking in more than two beers because he had to drive them home.

Nearing 10pm, the group decided to leave and get home since they had to wake up early for work. They stepped out of the warm pub in to a slightly cooler atmosphere, and the groups shared laughter only died away after they had said their goodbyes and each couple made their way to their respective cars. Dean waved goodbye to his coworker over his shoulder and slid his fingers in to Castiel's, Castiel closing his fingers around Dean's. Dean swerved slightly while walking, only to brush his shoulder against Castiel as a smile lingered on his face as he looked down. They walked towards the car, talking in quiet voices.

"And the one about the Tower of Babble, that was far too easy of a question to be worth so many points." Castiel was talking about the last round, thinking of how simple most of the questions had been. Dean was only half listening, letting the beer carry his feet towards the car. Once there though, through Castiel's quiet comments about the pub quiz, Dean grabbed him by the collar of his coat, pushing him roughly against the car.

Castiel was caught off guard and grunted, if only out of habit, as he felt the side of the Impala against his back. Dean leaned forward, his face close and breath visible in the air as it brushed across Castiel's face.

"Take me home angel boy," he whispered huskily, lips almost touching Castiel's and yet withholding that soft feeling.

Castiel paused for a moment, brow furrowing. "That's the plan, Dean."

**Author's Note:**

> I also have a [tumblr](https://thez1337.tumblr.com/), feel free to stop by and say hi or drop me a drabble


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